When spring comes to New Hampshire
I can’t help but remember the sweet
Aroma of hot pure maple syrup,
And the feel of the steam rising
From the boiling sap in the pans.
The peaceful sound of the crackling fire.
Sitting with my dad in the sugar house
Sharing a quiet conversation.
~ Chris Blaudschun
This poem was written by Chris when he was in 4th grade, as a submission to a Robert Frost poetry contest. That was a while ago – Chris now has children of his own. But the poem remains relevant, and we publish it with his permission.